Blue at Seventeen
by BehrBeMine
Summary: A glimpse into the horror of teen pregnancy. (M/M)


Title: Blue at Seventeen  
Author: BehrBeMine  
Feedback: Let me know if I can write Michael and Maria worth crap, will ya? behrbemine@hotmail.com  
Distribution: My contemporaries. To archive anywhere else, just ask.  
Summary: Liz POV - - A glimpse into the horror of teen pregnancy. (M/M)  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: Michael/Maria  
Improv: #19 - - blue, radiate, deny, spirit  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Don't sue, I'll cry. ;p  
Spoilers: Takes place after 'Departure'.  
Author's Notes: I've decided not to continue this on into a series. It's meant to be but a glimpse, as the summary implies.  
  
  
I would glady deny all of this if I could, but it happened. A day not long ago that broke the spirit of my best friend, my source of constant laughter and fun. If I could take it all upon myself I would, to save Maria from the burden she'll have to carry for the rest of her life.  
  
Roughly a month and a half after Tess' departure, there came a day when Maria walked into work, late, as usual. I wasn't alarmed until I got a look at her face, pale and frightened. She didn't radiate the usual joy of being seventeen and so full of life. "Maria, what's the matter?" I asked, noticing that she wasn't dressed in her waitress uniform. Her eyelids fell and it looked like she might just faint, so I enveloped her in a hug and snapped at Tara, the smart-mouthed new waitress that was apparently taking a break.  
  
"Cover for me, I have something to deal with," I said to her as I steered Maria toward the back room. Tara rolled her eyes, but I saw her put out her cigarette and whip out her order pad. Once we were away from curious eyes, I stepped away from my best friend to face her, eager to find out what it was that was upsetting her so much. It was strange enough that she hadn't come in blabbing out one of her carefully plotted excuses to explain why she was late, but today there was the added alarming fact that she looked like she was about to drop. "Maria... what's going on?"  
  
"Is Michael here?" she asked instead of answering, her eyes full of unshed tears.  
  
I paused to think. "No... No, Michael doesn't work on Tuesdays. Why, are you looking for him?" She took in a shuddering breath, shaking her head. "Maria?"  
  
"No, I'm not looking for him," she finally acknowledged. "He's not here. It's good that he's not here."  
  
Good that he's not here? The two of them had been getting along so well lately... not a single fight all week. "Maria, why don't you want him to be here? Are you mad at him?"  
  
"God, you and your questions!" she exclaimed with impatience, bringing her hands up to cover her face. She sighed, pulling her hands away to reveal her face to me once again. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little stressed out right now. I'm not having the best of days."  
  
I nodded, then said tentatively, "Yeah, I can tell..."  
  
"Do I look like crap? Do I look like ABSOLUTE crap?" She spun on her heel and headed toward the bathroom, and, very much confused, I followed. "I didn't even bother putting on any makeup today. My face is probably white as paste. I hate that. But I woke up, puked a few times, looked at the clock, realized I was late for work, but then again, what else is new?"  
  
Alarmed, I widened my eyes. "Maria, you've been throwing up? Why didn't you just call in sick, I would have covered for you."  
  
"I'm not here to work," Maria revealed, opening the door of the ladies bathroom and walking up to the counter that held the sink. "And, are you on a break or what? 'Cause I'm here for a certain reason, but I need you to be here with me for a while. How long can you stay with me?"  
  
"Maria, I'll just stay with you however long you want. It's still early, there's not a big crowd on weekdays. Tara can handle it. And even if she can't, I'm not exactly fond of the girl so I can let her sweat it out for a while. What do you need me for?"  
  
"Moral support." Hoisting her purse onto the grimy counter that didn't look at all like I had just cleaned it, she began rifling through its contents, bringing a handful of junk out a few times to drop it on the counter absently. Maria was never really one for organization. Finally, she reached what she was looking for and pulled out a small brown paper sack, the kind used to bag things in at the drugstore. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes a moment before turning to me and handing me the bag. Giving her a questioning look, I slowly opened the top of it and reached inside to pull out the small box. Tearing my attention away from Maria's face, I looked down, and all I saw were the words "pregnancy test", causing me to yelp and drop the box to the ground. What followed was a very long, very uncomfortable silence that fell between us as we both stared down at the object I'd dropped. It slapped the floor in a way that pounded into my brain, starting a dull humming in my forehead. Finally I found a voice to speak as Michael's face came to mind. "Please tell me this could only be the cause of one person..."  
  
Maria gave me an exasperated look. "Of course!" she flared. "And it was just once, Liz, I swear. Michael didn't have any protection at the time but we went for it anyway..."  
  
I gasped and swatted her arm roughly. "You slept with Michael and didn't tell me about it?"  
  
She recoiled in pain and grabbed her upper arm which was now reddening considerably where I'd slapped it. "God, I'm distressed enough as it is, stop hitting me!"  
  
"Well I don't know what else to do!" I shot back, my voice rising to a pitch I hardly ever used.  
  
"You can start by picking the test up from the floor!"  
  
"I don't want to touch it!"  
  
"Well I don't either!"  
  
"Oh my God!" I couldn't breathe; suddenly I felt that all my airways were constricted, and I had to turn away and calm myself down. This wasn't helping, obviously this wasn't helping. Maria came to me because I'm her best friend, and because I can rationalize anything, and make it seem like it's okay... But this, this was not anywhere near okay. I could sense that she was about to cry, so I gathered my wits as best I could and turned back to face her. I didn't even realize that I was crying myself until I heard my voice crack.  
  
"Maria... Do you really think that you're...?"  
  
"I don't know... I don't know..." She stared gravely down at the box on the floor. Silently, I willed it to go away, to disappear, wishing I could just step on it and the problem would go away. Maria's tone became resolute. "But I have to find out. Now."  
  
The process took fifteen minutes. I remember being thankful that nobody came into the bathroom, and I remember pacing nervously, glancing at the clock more times than was necessary. But I don't remember much else about those fifteen minutes. They've permanently buried themselves in some deep corner of my brain. I wish my mind would bury the memory of the last few seconds, but I can remember them now clear as yesterday. The two of us stood shoulder-to-shoulder, eyeing the large clock on the wall. The seconds hand ticked, ticked, ticked, edging closer and closer to the twelve at the top. I didn't want it to ever reach the time we were waiting for. I know that Maria didn't want it to, either. Maybe that's why we were staring at it so intensely; like that old saying about the watched pot that never boils. But, despite our stares, the minute hand eventually reached its destination, and so we turned to face the small strip that was laid on the counter. Maria wouldn't move. It was as if her feet were glued to the floor, and so it became my job to look and see what the result was, my job to keep my voice steady as I told my best friend in the whole world whatever it was that I would have to tell her. Suddenly I felt so young, so vulnerable and so unprepared for such a thing. Does someone ever feel prepared for such a thing?  
  
My hand seemed so small as I reached out and picked up the test stick, resting my eyes on the specific space where the answer would lie. Maria found a voice to speak, and it was a hoarse whisper, barely audible.  
  
"What color is it?"  
  
A simple question. All I had to do was sound out the answer: blue or white. Pregnant or not pregnant. My vision was blurred with tears and my hand shook as I stared ominously at this stick that I held in my hand. This piece of plastic that was to decide her fate, that was to determine the way she would live out the rest of her life that had only just begun. My voice came out so small, so frightened, posessing none of the reassurance I knew she was hoping for.  
  
"It's blue."  
  
Maria smothered a cry, sinking to the cold tile floor in a heap, her sobs torturous. Afraid for her, afraid of all that was to come in a future that suddenly seemed so dark, I sunk to the ground to add my sobs to hers, wrapping my arms around her trembling body.  
  
- - -  
  
It was a long afternoon that seemed to drag on forever after Maria and I confirmed her suspicion that she was indeed pregnant. We cried for hours together, on the ice cold floor of the restaurant bathroom. My face was soaked with tears, though not as soaked as hers, and eventually our sobs wound down from pure exhaustion.  
  
I looked at Maria, into her haunted eyes that were still wet, and felt vomit rise up in my throat. Swallowing, I forced it back down. My voice was faint, but she heard me all the same: "We should tell Michael."  
  
Maria smiled. It was a cold, cinical smile that sent a chill up my spine. "He won't be able to handle it. He's going to freak out and blame it on me. Then he'll run away, run like he does from every problem too hot to handle."  
  
"Maria, we have to tell him. We HAVE to... I won't let him run away. He was a part of this, and he's going to help finish it."  
  
The determination in my voice was no consolation to her, I could see that. Grasping my hands in hers, she rose to a stand, pulling me along with her. Weakened legs threatened to give out on me, but we supported each other on the way out of the bathroom and then up the stairs to my family's apartment.  
  
The window was open in my bedroom as Maria and I entered. The stationary desert heat wafted in to turn the temperature nearly stifling. I shed my shoes and immediately headed over to the phone on my nightstand. As I took it off the receiver, I turned to Maria. I was reluctant to speak, because she stood embracing herself, rubbing the palms of her hands up and down her arms that were crossed over her chest.  
  
"Is it cold in here? Liz, aren't you cold?"  
  
I felt sweat forming at the nape of my neck, but decided to lie as not to alarm her. I nodded slowly, and then bit my lip as Maria made her way onto my recently-made bed and curled up into a ball. She didn't even bother looking my way as she said, "Do you think you could call Michael for me? Tell him to come over here... I don't want him to find out over the phone."  
  
Again I nodded, and brought the phone to my ear. And then I frowned, knowing my next question was odd: "What's his number?" It felt strange having to ask that, after all, Michael had been such a part of my life in an indirect way for two years now. And yet I didn't know his phone number.  
  
From her childlike position on the mattress, Maria mumbled the seven numbers, and I dialed, my stomach churning with every ring. Nine rings, and no answer. "Maria, I don't think he's home... he's not answering the phone."  
  
"He's home," she assured me without pause. "He's just too lazy to answer the phone. Let it ring some more, eventually he'll get pissed off enough to pick up."  
  
And eventually he did. Not with the usual greeting, but a rough, "If this is a solicitor, you're going to die."  
  
I paused, my unspoken thoughts lingering in the silence that followed. "Michael?" I finally tried.  
  
"Liz?" He sounded confused.  
  
"Yes... Listen, Michael, something's come up. Are you busy?"  
  
"Are you selling anything?" he half-kidded.  
  
"No."  
  
"Then, no." I heard him sigh; I'd probably awakened him. "Is this about work or something? I know I missed my shift last night - - is your dad going to fire me?"  
  
My eyes were glued to Maria as she looked on in anticipation. "I don't know, he might. But that's not why I'm calling. Can you come to The Crashdown? I have something to tell you."  
  
"So tell me."  
  
"No, I can't tell you now. Not over the phone. Michael, please, just come." I could sense that he was going to protest again. "Maria's here."  
  
He exhaled. "Fine. I'm coming. Are you guys upstairs?"  
  
"Yes." And then he hung up. No goodbye, no second confirmation. I pulled the phone from my ear to look at it a moment before setting it on the cradle. "He's coming..." I said out loud for Maria's benefit.  
  
"Okay."  
  
More minutes ticked by like hours as I hugged my best friend on my bed, waiting for Michael to show up - - wanting him to get here so we could get this overwith, and also in a way not wanting to deal with it. "It'll be okay," I kept saying. "Michael will be fine. He'll just have to accept it, like we have."  
  
"What if he wants me to have an abortion?"  
  
"Would he do that?" My voice wavered, frightened into quietness by that word. Maria could never have an abortion... Michael could never ask her to. In truth, I didn't even know if it was possible. For the first time I considered whether or not this baby was even human. What would we do? How would we hide their secret then? This baby would BECOME their secret; it would become a visual symbol of what they really are.  
  
Maria didn't say anything else. I hugged her tighter, and said it again: "It'll be okay..." It would, it would... it was going to be okay. Everything would be fine.  
  
You reach a certain point in the cycle of distress when your better judgement starts to tear away the meaning of your words. Five and a half minutes ticked by, and each time the minute hand crossed the twelve, my paranoia grew. A part of me believed the exact opposite of my reassuring words. But to keep the two of us calm, I repeated them again and again.  
  
I half expected Michael to come in through the window, which seemed to be Max's favorite entrance, but he came in through the door, closing it behind him. I don't think the words I had spoken on the phone gave him any cause for alarm, but he looked worried as his gaze fell on Maria, and she merely stared back at him, as did I. He stood by the door, keeping his hand on the knob as if assuring himself an easy way to bolt if necessary.  
  
I sat up, and his attention turned to me. I tried to conceal the fear in my eyes, but he saw it, I knew he did. My words were directed at Maria, though I continued looking at Michael. "Should I leave?"  
  
"Yes," Michael said.  
  
I swallowed over the lump in my throat, and turned to Maria. She wanted me to stay, I could see it. She wanted my strength to help her through this; she didn't want to tell him alone. But she didn't say a word of protest, and Michael spoke again, "Liz, go."  
  
On another day I might have shot him a glare and pointed out that this was my room, but it wasn't the time for it. I slid off my bed, and headed for the door, giving him a look of warning. He returned it with the same ferocity, and moved from the door so I could leave.  
  
"Don't go far," Maria pleaded weakly from her place on the bed. "Stay outside the door... I might need you."  
  
I almost expected Michael to order me not to eavesdrop, but he didn't. Instead he ignored me, and walked over to my bed, slowly taking a seat next to Maria. His back was to me as I eased out the door, and Maria's eyes found mine right before I closed it. "It'll be okay," I mouthed, and then gently pulled the door until it latched.  
  
I stayed near the room, as Maria asked, sliding down with my back against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, staring at the wooden door as if waiting for it to move. I wanted to believe Michael would be supportive, for Maria's sake. But I knew him. I was there during all the times that he pushed her away, because he was afraid. And if this didn't scare him, nothing would.  
  
I strained my ears, but the door seemed to absorb the sound of their voices, because all I could hear were muffled noises running together to create broken-up blurs. I so desperately wanted to say strong; I didn't want to cry anymore. I wanted to be able to put on a strong facade for my best friend when she needed it the most, and hold her together if she threatened to fall apart. But the tears came unbidden, falling down my cheeks like a silent waterfall as I continued to stare forward, just waiting for more bad news.  
  
An unclocked amount of time passed, and the hinges of the door creaked as it was opened. Michael stood in the doorway, his face resembling that of a lost little boy, his eyes brimming with the tears that I knew he wouldn't cry in front of me. Not a sound came from the bedroom, and I was relieved because it meant Maria hadn't broken down into a crying fit. From my spot on the floor, I hastily wiped the tears from my face and stared at Michael as I'd stared at him in the room minutes before.  
  
My fingers laced and unlaced as if with a mind of their own as I sat hardly aware of it, trying to slow the rapid beating of my heart. The thumping sound seemed to grow in size with every passing second, and before long it was all that I could hear, the rhythmic sound beat out a slow and terrifying rhythm that threatened to shut out anything else...  
  
I coughed to clear my throat. "Is she okay?"  
  
Michael shoved his hands into his pockets, considering my words. "I think so." He's a terrible liar... "She's asleep now."  
  
That was a relief to hear. In sleep the nightmares weren't real. In sleep the invisible demons of life couldn't catch her. I asked my next question in concern, although depending on what would follow, I wasn't sure if I wanted to know. "Are you okay?"  
  
He didn't answer, and for a moment I was afraid he'd ask me the same. He held the stare between us a bit longer, and then made his way down the hall. I heard the front door open and close, and then rose up from my spot on the floor, re-entering my bedroom. I had a desire to see him leave, to see how this news was affecting him. I wanted to believe he could be strong and controlled, that he could handle this. Because if he could, then there was a chance that Maria could as well.  
  
I climbed out the window and walked to the edge of my balcony, placing my hands lightly on the railing as I looked down.  
  
He made his way out of the doors of the restaurant below, and for a few quick seconds, his steps were calm and controlled. But it didn't last long, and as soon as his feet slapped the black surface of the street, he broke into a run. I cried a tear for him as he sprinted away and out of my sight.  
  
- -  
end 


End file.
